


coffee and cigarettes

by princesskay



Series: the summer of '81 [4]
Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 16:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21359137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesskay/pseuds/princesskay
Summary: March 3rd, 1982.On the day the divorce is finalized, Bill and Holden look together toward an uncertain future.
Relationships: Holden Ford/Bill Tench
Series: the summer of '81 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1491002
Comments: 41
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

_ March 3rd, 1982.  _ The date begins to resolve itself into some kind of stony monument in the back of his mind as Bill leans against the cold, coarse brick of the courthouse, and lights his first cigarette in two hours. The smoke clouds against the lingering chill in the early Spring air, hanging against the outline of his weary exhale before dissipating into nothing. 

He turns his collar up against the breeze, and squints at the other pedestrians wandering down the front steps of the courthouse, their faces written with either despair or exaltation. Today’s date rises to personal importance in his mind, and he wonders how many of these other people either feel freed or trapped by the judge’s ruling in their case. His emotions haven’t quite settled on either one, but he’s tired - tired as hell, there’s no denying it. 

Bill takes another hard drag of his cigarette, and watches as the building ash breaks free of the tip to float towards the wet pavement. Most of last night’s snow has melted away beneath the dawning sunshine, but winter hangs on stubbornly. The cold seeps past his coat, but he lingers here, waiting it out. They’ll be coming down the steps like the rest of the people any minute. 

Bill focuses on the front door of the courthouse. He inhales, tasting hot smoke and chilled air against his shuddering lungs. Somewhere below, his heart melds into a disjointed jumble of broken pieces, each fractured shard reaching out for the next in search of healing. He wonders if seeing them after its all said and done will be what he needs to let go, or if it will only make things worse; but he’s already decided he wants to look her in the eyes one last time, to at least be honest with her for once without lawyers and a judge mediating the conversation. 

The doors swing open, and Nancy and Brian emerge. They’re both buttoned up in their coats, mittened hands clutching onto one another as they pass from the heated interior of the courthouse to the stiff breeze beyond. 

Bill tosses his spent cigarette to the ground, and shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he crosses the steps to where Nancy and Brian are descending. 

“‘Morning.” He says, falling in step with them down the staircase. 

“Good morning.” She acknowledges him but quickly focuses her gaze ahead. 

Bill cringes at the irony of the exchange. This morning is anything but good, misery swelling up in the ripped edges of their marriage finally coming to a close. 

He scrutinizes the faint shimmer of pain in her eyes as they descend the steps to the sidewalk below. He’d seen little more than anger from her in the last grueling eight months, but he has to cling to the idea that some of it had been a superficial layer of bravado to protect herself from the devastating sadness she must be feeling. 

_ Fuck me.  _ He thinks. Maybe he’s just here to lash himself with her broken heart, to glean a bit of self-imposed torture from seeing the two of them walk away from him. 

They’d just seen one another in the courtroom, but there had been an aisle and lawyers between them, judiciary decorum banishing any kind of true emotion. She’d sat perfectly still, her gaze straight ahead as the judge finally handed down the decision to grant the divorce, but now as they face the cold breeze defying the breath of Spring, he can see the facade beginning to crumble. 

As they reach the bottom of the steps, Nancy pauses her determined stride. She bends down to adjust Brian’s hat, and make certain that the zipper of his coat is fitted snugly beneath his chin. 

“What is it?” She asks, stiffly as she straightens, meeting his lingering gaze. 

He swallows hard, his downward glance catching on Brian’s rosy, windswept cheeks. 

“I just wanted to see you before …” He begins, his voice faint and hoarse. He looks back up, but she has already turned her face away, focusing on the cars rushing down the street past them and throwing up melted slush off the asphalt. 

“I want you to know …” He continues, choking on the words despite the honesty of them. “I’m sorry.” 

She sniffs, quietly, and presses a gloved hand against her mouth. “I know.” 

“Do you?” 

Her gaze shifts to him as he presses the question, and he can see the tears beginning to build against her eyelids. She blinks against the emotion, forcing it dissipate as she draws in a deep, steadying breath. 

“Yes.” 

What she doesn’t say is that she’s punished him with his guilt every day for the last eight months, and that she’s been merciful - more merciful than he deserves. 

“Okay.” He says, at length. “You know, I want you to be happy, Nance. You and Brian both. It’s all I ever wanted.” 

She nods. There’s an emptiness in her eyes. Maybe if someone else had intruded on this moment they might have wondered why she’s so quiet instead of angry. But, they’ve already exploded and lashed out and hurt one another in ways they’d never thought possible. There’s nothing left but regrets, the remnants of an ugly truth. Nothing left to say. Nothing left to mitigate the harsh reality of the circumstances of their separation. 

She manages a stiff smile, and turns back to Brian. “Are you ready, sweetheart? I think some lunch is in order.” 

He nods up at her, and she slides her hand across his back, guiding him away from Bill. 

“See you at therapy.” She says. 

Bill nods, and reaches for his cigarettes. He lights up as he watches them walk towards the station wagon parked several spaces down at the curb. Just before he can tear himself away, Brian ducks out from under Nancy’s arm, and bolts back in his direction. 

Bill crouches down as Brian reaches him, and comes to a stop a foot away. His dark eyes are off the pavement, looking directly at Bill with a foreign intensity that he’s only witnessed a handful of times. 

“What is it?” Bill asks, holding out a tentative hand. 

Brian’s brow furrows in a tiny frown, and he reaches into his coat pocket. His mittened hand comes back out in a fist, and plops against Bill’s outstretched palm. His fingers gradually uncurl, depositing a small rock the size of a half-dollar. It’s black and jagged, one side broken open to display glistening, white minerals ribbing the inside. 

“I found it.” Brian says. 

Bill turns the rock over between his fingers, inspecting it carefully before offering a faint smile. “It’s pretty.” 

Brian takes a step backwards as Nancy calls his name. His mouth purses like he wants to say more. Instead, he turns and runs back to Nancy, leaving the rock in Bill’s outstretched hand. 

Rising to his feet, Bill watches as Nancy bundles Brian into the car, and gets behind the wheel. The station wagon pulls away from the courthouse, and Bill turns his gaze back to the rock weighing against his palm. Abruptly, his chest tightens with horrible force, and he closes his fist around the sharp edges of the stone until the pain eclipses the hot sting of tears. Pressing his cigarette between his lips, he trudges in the direction of his own car. 

Behind the wheel, he twists the key in the ignition, but sits still for a long minute, listening to the engine idle while his gaze lingers on the courthouse. It’s the last he’ll have to see of it for a long time, hopefully forever outside of work. From now on, he’ll only see Nancy at the therapy appointments and when she drops Brian off on the weekends he’s been afforded by the court to see his child. It’s all permanent and final, the ink dried on the mandate. No more negotiations. No more tactics. No more pleading against the taut leverage she has over his decisions. No more worrying about waking up one morning to find she’s changed her mind about mercy, and the divorce judge and lawyers know every detail of his illicit affair with his younger, male co-worker. No more. 

But it doesn’t feel like a relief, not yet. Maybe that will come later when the pain has eased and life starts to march on again whether he likes it or not. 

Bill pulls away from the courthouse, and drives home by rote, hardly thinking about the street names and turns. When he arrives at his apartment, he picks up the phone and calls the BSU. 

Holden answers on the first ring. “Agent Ford.” 

God, his voice. Now that sounds a bit like relief. 

“It’s me.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine. Do you want to come over tonight?” 

“Of course. I’ll get carry-out on the way over.” 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll order pizza … or something.” 

Silence falls across the line, and Bill can hear Holden breathing softly against the receiver. He can envision the wheels turning behind those perceptive blue eyes, parsing the honesty from the lie in his voice, hearing the pain beneath layers of indifference. 

“I could leave work early, you know.” Holden says, “Go to the bathroom and pretend to be sick.” 

“Don’t do that.” Bill says, rubbing against the headache brewing above his eyebrows. “I’ll be fine.” 

“You don’t sound fine, Bill.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Bill says, releasing a sigh through his nostrils. “Just come over after work, and we’ll … I don’t know, watch TV or-”

“It’s really better to talk about it. Get it off your chest.” 

“I know. You think I don’t know that?” 

Bill leans against the kitchen counter, and rubs a hand over his face as the reply leaps from his throat harsher than he’d intended. Muttering a curse, he adjusts his grip on the telephone, and sucks in a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, pressing his eyes shut. “Can we just please argue about this later?” 

“Yeah. Fine. Of course.” 

“Holden-”

“I’ll get it out of you, one way or another. You know that, right?” Holden asks, and his tone is gentler this time, warm with a stubborn fondness that makes some of the tightness in Bill’s chest relax by a measure. 

“Yes.” 

“Okay. See you later.” 

“Okay. Bye.” 

Bill hangs up the phone, and turns to lean his hip against the kitchen counter. The space is practically empty though he’s been living here for well over six months. The only signs of life are the bag of grounds by the coffee maker and the used whiskey glasses sitting in the sink. He tries not to spend much time here because the number on the door alone reminds him of that sweltering day in August when he and Nancy had left the therapist’s office and she’d spoken the truth. Having Holden here helps him think of these four walls as something other than a prison. 

It’s almost noon, but five o’clock seems achingly distant. Bill pours himself a glass of whiskey, and settles down on the sofa to flip aimlessly through the TV channels. The silence stretches on over the low volume of the TV, and he hates this place more than ever before. 

~

Holden calls Bill at 4:30, and tells him not to order pizza or anything else. He’ll pick something up on the way over and pay for it out of his own pocket. Bill shouldn’t have to do it on a day like today. Bill says okay, not offering an argument. 

Holden does his best not to appear hurried as he finishes up his work for the day and bustles out the door. His nerves were shot the moment he opened his eyes this morning, seeing the date on the calendar as if marked by red ink. It had been looming for three weeks, and he’d felt giddy for most of the days right up until this morning when a hint of guilt peeked past the excitement. Hearing Bill’s weary voice choking down the pain dampened his joy even further, and he’d spent the rest of the day convincing himself that he’s this eager simply because it will finally be over. Bill can stop worrying about Nancy spilling their secret. He can stop dreading the phone calls, the meetings with the lawyers, the court dates. Maybe the truth will hurt for a little while, but at least it will be over. 

Holden stops by their favorite Chinese take-out spot ten minutes from Bill’s apartment, and picks up two large orders of General Tso chicken and crab rangoons. The familiar, warm smell of takeout perfumes the car as he pulls back out onto the road, but even that enticing scent can’t claim his attention with hunger. 

His mind wanders back over the past eight months, the way their relationship had evolved under the mounting pressure of an ugly divorce. He’d had a front row seat to every argument. He’d lain in Bill’s bed on more than one occasion while listening to a particularly heated telephone conversation in the other room unfold moments after orgasm and ecstasy. There was an element of fearful desperation in their every touch, as if every second counted because it could be taken away in a moment. It felt like buying time, and he’d hated it. 

But despite the pain and anger bursting through every long, arduous week of the divorce, Nancy’s mercy had extended this far. God, how he wants to hate her; but he can’t, for that reason alone. They’re free now, as free as they’ll ever be. 

When Holden reaches the apartments, he parks on the curb and gazes up at the yellow light filling the window of Bill’s apartment. Every time he comes here, he’s reminded why it’s wrong. Bill had stayed with him for two months after Nancy served the papers before she put her foot down, insisting she wouldn’t be giving any kind of visitation rights if he was “shacking up” with Holden.  _ Shacking up.  _ He gets angry each time he thinks about that phone call, how Bill had slammed the phone down and said he had to leave. Their two little months together ended abruptly, and Holden felt like they were back to the hotels again, meeting up in between work and Nancy for a few hours before being forced back to reality. 

Shoving the car door open, Holden gets out and strides up the sidewalk to the front door. He punches in the code to let himself into the building, and rides the elevator up to the fifth floor. Bill’s apartment is four doors down, the one with the faded brass numbers that read  _ 671\.  _ Holden knocks softly. 

Bill opens the door in his sweatpants and undershirt, a cigarette clutched between his fingers. 

“Hey.” Holden says, mustering a smile. 

“Hey.” Bill says, taking the paper takeout bag from Holden as he steps aside to let Holden into the apartment. “Thanks for this.” 

“Yeah, of course.” Holden says, shrugging out of his coat. 

His gaze follows Bill across the room as he carries the bag into the living room, and nudges aside the empty beer bottles on the coffee table to make room. 

The TV is playing a boxing match at low volume, illuminating the darkened room with strobes of light. The only other light on in the apartment is the one in the kitchen, casting long shadows across his shoulders into the despairing scene in the living room. 

Holden drops his coat over the arm of the recliner, and wanders into the living room. 

“You want a beer?” Bill asks, “I have more in the fridge.” 

“No, I’m good.” 

Bill removes the take-out boxes from the bag, and sinks to the couch with a sigh. Smoke billows from his mouth as he glances up at Holden. 

“So, did I miss anything important at work today?” 

Holden puts his hands in his pockets because they have the squirming urge to reach out and touch, try to coax out the pain hiding behind this painfully casual conversation. 

“Yeah, it looks like we’re being asked to go out for a consultation in Texas.” Holden says. “Ted said we could fill you in tomorrow.” 

“Sit down.” Bill says, nodding at the couch beside him. 

Holden withdraws his hands from his pockets, and takes the cushion next to him. There’s only a few inches of space between them, but it feels like too many, like a chasm he’s struggling to bridge. 

“Why don’t you tell me now so we don’t have to play catch-up?” Bill asks. He stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray, and leans forward to open the take-out box. 

Holden frowns as he takes a bite of chicken. He can’t seem to find his own appetite. 

“I don’t know if I want to talk about it over dinner.” Holden says, “It’s some pretty gruesome stuff.” 

“It never bothered you before.” 

“Well, it does right now.” 

Bill shoots him a glance over his shoulder, and a swath of white light from the TV illuminates the faded blue of his eyes, the raw ache swimming just underneath. What does he have to do to get it out into the open, to make Bill say all the things he must be feeling? Sometimes it’s like coming at the steel framework of a car mangled in a traffic accident with a crowbar, trying to rip open the wreckage to get to the scared, trembling person trapped inside. 

Bill turns back to his food, and chews in silence for a long minute. He washes the bite down with a swig of beer, and sets the bottle down with a heavy sigh. He can feel Holden’s gaze bearing down the back of his neck. 

“I don’t want to do this right now, Holden.” He says, quietly, his voice holding a minute tremble. 

“Fine, we can just eat.” Holden says, tamping down the frustration building his chest. 

He grabs his box from the coffee table, and balances it on his knees as he rips open the plastic sheath on the fork. 

“Don’t be like that.” Bill says, turning to glare at him. “You have no fucking idea what I just went through today.” 

“I have a little bit of an idea.” Holden says, shaking his head. “I’ve only watched you suffer through it for the last eight months. I’m just trying to help-”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it. What else do you want me to say?” 

The announcer on the boxing match shouts with glee as a contender taps out, and the room fills with the staticy roar of the crowd. Holden bites the inside of his cheek as his chest pricks with crashing disappointment and recoiling pride. 

_ This doesn’t feel free.  _ He thinks, and he almost wishes he could go back to last week when they were laying in bed at night, clinging to one another as the shadow of this day stretched across them.

Bill drops the plastic fork to the coffee table with a heavy sigh. 

“Fuck.” He mutters. 

Holden sets his take-out box aside. “Maybe I will go get that beer.” 

He rises from the couch, but Bill catches him by the wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. Holden pauses, waiting for the dam to break, the apology to come, the truth to slither free. But, Bill simply pulls him back down to the couch, and pushes into his embrace, his face buried in the staggered tempo of Holden’s jugular pulse. 

Holden wraps his arms across the width of Bill’s shoulders, bracing one palm against his nape, the other between his shoulder blades. He can feel every jagged hitch of Bill’s lungs swelling and retracting with pained, suffocated breaths, his muscles drawn taut against the tempting pull of a breakdown. 

Holden’s gaze focuses unsteadily on the next round of the boxing match, watching as the two men swing wildly at one another, looking for contact with skin and bone. They’re both battered and sweating, blood melding with the trickle of perspiration, an animal ferocity gleaming in their eyes. 

Bill’s chest is leaning hard against him, his nose pushed up against Holden’s throat, making it difficult to breath. But he doesn’t move because this contact feels better than stilted conversation and a brewing argument. 

After awhile, Bill’s weight shifts off him just enough for Holden to draw in a shaky lungful of air. His fingers graze Holden’s cheek as his mouth lingers too close for Holden to get a good look into his eyes. He kisses the corner of Holden’s mouth gently, an apology stamped into skin. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, a strain of desperation Holden has become all too familiar with. 

Holden turns his mouth into the kiss, but Bill pulls back before it can deepen. 

They eat the rest of dinner in silence. The boxing match comes to a close as they scrape the take-out boxes clean, and Bill drains the foamy remnants of his beer. He lights another cigarette, and leans back against the couch cushions, distracted gaze lingering on the television. Holden can tell that he’s hardly registering the close of the match. He smokes fast and hard when he’s thinking, muttering a cough against brutal smoke inhalation but barely giving a pause between drags. 

Holden stretches his fingers across the couch cushions until they brush against Bill’s limp knuckles. His touch wanders over the back of Bill’s hand, across his knuckles, between his fingers until Bill’s hand turns underneath the nudging to accept the embrace. As their fingers lace together, Bill’s grip tightens. He tugs Holden across the scant space between them, and Holden lowers his head to Bill’s shoulder.

They lay still for a long time, and Holden can feel Bill’s pulse underneath his grip, can feel the faint swell of his lungs under his shoulder, can feel the truth lunging against its compartmentalized cages. He wants to say something just to fill the silence, but he can’t think of anything except what this day means and how fuzzy the future seems in this moment. He wants to ask if Bill blames him for everything, if he only stayed this long because he doesn’t want to be alone, if all these months of suffering haven’t meant anything because ultimately he can’t live with the idea of what being with Holden makes him. And in a way, Holden blames himself for his own naivety, for thinking that today meant something good and that their lives would improve once the divorce was final. He blames himself for staying, for always asking for too much, for expecting the world and more. 

Unable to take the silence any longer, Holden retracts his head from Bill’s shoulder, and disentangles their fingers. He begins to gather up the empty take-out containers, used napkins, and wasted beer bottles, stuffing it all in the paper bag from the Chinese food. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Bill says, “I’ll clean up later.” 

“It’s okay. I want to.” 

Holden ignores Bill’s stare as he plucks a beer bottle from underneath the coffee table, and shoves it in with the rest of the trash. He turns to carry the bag into the kitchen before his eyes can betray to Bill the emotion stacking up hard against the back of his throat, threatening to break free in the stinging tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. 

Stuffing the overflowing bag into the garbage can, Holden staggers to the sink, and cranks on the cold water. He bends over to drink directly from the faucet, swallowing back the lump in his throat with the water. 

When he straightens, Bill is standing at the entrance of the kitchen. 

Holden cranks the faucet off. Water drips from his chin, but he doesn’t lift his hand to wipe it away. Bill’s gaze reaches across the kitchen to grasp him with an unhinged, quaking intensity that he hasn’t quite seen before; maybe a watered down brand of this need had burst free in the BSU bathroom long months before, or on that night when Nancy had finally delivered the papers. But this look is something else, something like the burn of whiskey overtaking the mellow glaze of beer, something like fire leaping out of simmering ash. 

Holden is frozen against the counter as Bill strides across the linoleum. He half-expects to be kissed hard, the way Bill kisses when he’s angry like the crush of knuckles across his lower lip, yearning to draw blood; but he isn’t slammed into the kitchen counter or attacked by the fury of Bill’s mouth. 

Bill slows as he reaches him, his gaze pinned to the floor. Holden glimpses the pained grimace that ripples across his mouth just before Bill’s arms slide around his waist, drawing Holden’s back flush against his chest. He buries his mouth and nose in Holden’s nape, and Holden hears him draw in a sharp, quivering breath. The exhale that follows is rushed and hot, quivering with repressed emotion tearing itself free. 

Holden’s hands go sweaty around the edge of the counter as Bill leans into him, trapping him in place. A shudder works its way from Bill’s chest and into Holden’s spine, transferring the tremble of pain through skin and the faint rasp of his breath catching in the back of his throat. The realization is slow to process, but Holden’s disappointed, leaping conclusions come to a jolting stop when he feels the wet heat of tears against the back of his neck. 

“Bill …” He whispers, a strange, panicked flutter rising his chest.

He’s never seen Bill like this, doesn’t know if he wants to. Despite the rigorous, emotional toil of the last eight months, Bill had remained steadfastly unmovable, a rock against the blistering surge of the tide. Never once had he betrayed the depth of his pain - not until now; and Holden doesn’t know if he’s strong enough yet to carry them ahead on his own. 

He reaches down to clutch Bill’s wrist, and tries to wiggle around in his arms. Bill’s arms only lock tighter around his middle, all but thrusting the breath from Holden’s lungs. Holden goes still, feeling his chest aching and shuddering underneath the crushing grip. Closing his eyes, he tries to calm his racing heart and think of something to say that might alleviate the misery drizzling in faint smudges against the back of his neck; but every soothing assurance he can think of falls flat and useless against the magnitude of the despair Bill must be feeling, the dark and trembling close of a long chapter in his life finally killed by them - by what they want from each other, by a passion that's illegal and wrong to Nancy and almost everyone else that matters. 

Bill's trembling hands crawl up Holden’s belly to grasp his chest, sinking into the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. A strangled gasp interrupts the stiff silence as his mouth opens against Holden’s skin, spilling a hot breath down his nape and against the rigid collar of his shirt. Mouth pressing shut again, he brands a hot, aching kiss into the skin, layering saliva over the freshly fallen tears. His shaking fingers reach up to tug his tie loose, and grapple with the buttons of Holden’s shirt.

Pulse climbing, Holden clings to the edge of the counter as the buttons pop open, and Bill tears the shirt back from his shoulders, mouth sweeping down to taste the freshly exposed skin. Shivers roll down Holden’s spine, and he presses his mouth shut over a needy moan, wondering if any sound or movement he makes might disrupt this frenzied need spilling over past the pain and frustration. 

He peels his fingers away from the edge of the counter long enough for Bill to strip the shirt from his arms. Bill pushes harder against him, and Holden can feel an erection blooming against the loose cotton of his sweatpants. His own need rushes up hot and quick, working its way past the recoiling pain in his chest, obliterating his doubts the way it always does when Bill touches him. 

He feels invincible again as Bill’s fingers delve beneath the hem of his undershirt and yank the fabric up his back. He leans forward under the eager push of Bill’s hands as the undershirt goes over his head, momentarily getting caught there while Bill gets distracted slathering kisses against the quiver of his spine and the rippling tension in his shoulder muscles. Holden tugs the shirt from his arms, and drops it into the sink as the weight of Bill’s body bears down against him, forcing the edge of the counter to bite into his hips. He ignores the faint pinch of pain while pleasure sparks in his belly, swarming quickly to tease his groin with the flexing tug of a growing erection. 

Bill’s teeth catch against the top of his left shoulder as his heavy-handed petting travels down Holden’s back to catch on the hard, restrictive cinch of his belt. He tugs at it impatiently, a muted groan humming into the patch of bitten flesh. 

Hands shaking, Holden reaches down to unbuckle the belt. The zipper catches on fabric, and he yanks fiercely at it until the trousers come away under the duress of Bill’s fists. A gasp lurches from his throat as Bill rips his briefs down, exposing his quaking flesh to cool air and the hard drag of his calloused palm. 

Holden tries again to turn around, eager to see the desperation sparking in Bill’s eyes, but Bill’s hand is against the back of his neck in seconds, pushing him face down against the smooth surface of the countertop. A groan leaps from his throat when his cheek makes contact with the formica, and he’s pinned down, his agency over this moment stripped away. He can barely glimpse what’s happening behind him if he strains his gaze out of the corner of his eye, but Bill towers over him for only moments before dropping to his knees and disappearing from view. 

Holden wiggles against the counter as Bill’s hand leaves the back of his neck. He stays still except to shift his legs further apart, his heart leaping in his chest while his muscles quiver against self-imposed passivity. 

Bill’s palm glides over the swell of his backside before stopping to grip the underside. There’s a torturous moment of silence, of nothing except the dull roar of Holden’s need in his mind and the demanding twitch of his cock growing harder and harder with every passing second; then he feels the hot exhale of Bill’s breath spilling against his cleft right before the slick press of his tongue wanders slowly, achingly across his hole. 

Holden gasps in a breath, his back arching against the wave of tingles that hit him suddenly, fiercely. Heat spirals through his belly at the simple stroke of Bill’s tongue, need pulling his cock so taut it hurts. For a moment, his mouth sputters in a wordless, empty cry before finally breaking out into a moan when Bill’s mouth presses his closer, lathering him with saliva, teasing him with the faint scrape of teeth. 

“Oh, Jesus …” Holden rasps, his eyes slamming shut against the pleasure running rampant through him, every fiber of him wanting to lurch away from the counter and into the hot, lancing press of Bill’s tongue. 

Bill’s palm braces against his lower back as Holden arches against him, eagerly taking the lapping stroke of his tongue. His other hand gathers Holden’s ass cheek, stretching him open to the slick ministration. His tongue circles the taut clench of muscle, soothing the shocked grip until the flesh begins to soften and melt against the constant, wet pressure. 

Holden’s palms slide across the counter, searching for purchase as his whole body quivers against the slick slide of Bill’s mouth. Whimpers crowd against the back of his throat, breaking free in desperate, whining pieces with every revolution of Bill’s tongue. He wants to reach down and touch himself in tempo with the wet caress, but he can barely think straight to keep his knees from buckling. His cock is hard and swollen between his thighs, brushing against the glaze of paint on the kitchen cabinets, feeling so far from relief that he could burst; but the steady stroke of Bill’s tongue keeps him half-way sane, too wrapped up in the glorious sensation of it gradually coaxing him open to think about anything other than the next second of pleasure washing across his flaming senses. 

Holden arches back against empty air as Bill’s mouth leaves him for a few torturous seconds. Bill’s thumb comes next, pushing against the saliva-slick hole to test the relaxed ring of muscle. The tip of his thumb pushes inside, and Holden all but sobs with need, his hips pushing back against the slight pressure, searching for more. 

“Oh, fuck …” he whines, rising on his toes against the caress even as it slips away. 

Hot breaths soothe him again, and he gasps in a shaking breath as Bill’s tongue pushes against him, applying the same slow, sweet pressure his thumb had just moments ago. Holden’s body submits to the slick press of his tongue, and he feels it writhe inside him, twisting his belly with a deeper, hotter arousal. 

“God, Bill …” Holden moans, thrusting back against the hot, wet press of his mouth. 

Bill makes a sound that vibrates into his skin, and Holden shudders with need that winds down his spine and into his groin. His cock leaps, and he can nearly feel the pre-cum squeezing from him, so on the edge of bursting that every throb feels like the verge of orgasm. 

Bill’s mouth draws back, lips puckering around him and sucking on the bit of flesh as it slides free. 

Holden feels his eyes roll back, a groan stretching helplessly from his dangling lips. His legs burn as he struggles to stay upright, every muscle trembling with the need for release. 

Bill’s mouth is on him again in moments, alternating between fucking Holden open with his tongue and turning his hole to melted-open flesh with hard, hot suckles. Holden can hardly string together a proper affirmation of pleasure as Bill’s hand slips between quaking thighs to find his cock pulsing and dripping with need. 

Holden cries out as Bill’s fist encircles him, dragging the flesh from its upright, ramrod hard position to a taut, downward stretch between his legs. The faint ache that ripples through him when Bill tugs him downward lasts seconds as it melds into the pleasure of Bill’s hand rubbing in long, hard strokes up and down the shaft. 

“Oh, fuck …” Holden gasps, sucking in a shaking breath as saliva drips from his open mouth to the counter. Every inch of him shudders with need, wanting to collapse back against the steady pressure of Bill’s tongue pushing into him, wanting to fall to the ground as arousal rips through him hotter, harder, more demanding with every second that passes. He can see it within reach, the orgasm cresting the edges of the bright, sparking horizon behind the clench of his eyelids. 

“Bill, yes …” He gasps, rocking back into the slick press of Bill’s mouth. 

Bill’s fist jerks between his thighs, bringing the need towards the breaking point with the unrelenting caress. 

Everything begins to burn, to draw unbearably tight just before Holden feels his body surrender. The pleasure breaks free past the quaking arousal, orgasm peaking within him in bright, pulsing spasms. He clings to the edge of the counter as his hips lurch against the steady stroke of Bill’s mouth and hand. His cock spills release, and he feels it hit his thighs before reaching the linoleum, spattering the cabinets with the lambastic expression of powerful pleasure. It surges through him again and again, wave after wave of concussive satisfaction clamping through his chest and belly until it dies away, the exploding light tempering into a melted hum behind his eyelids. 

He draws in a shaking breath as Bill grasps his hips to steady him. His knees give away as the last of the orgasm fades, and he feels himself drifting down into Bill’s lap. Sinking back against Bill’s chest, he closes his eyes, and tries to steady his breathing. 

Bill’s arms wind around his chest, holding him close. His mouth is against Holden’s neck, branding a row of warm, lingering kisses all the way down to his shoulder. 

Holden opens his eyes, and the light above the sink is far too bright. 

“God, Bill, that was-” 

But he can’t think of a way to describe how his body feels, how every inch of him is rejoicing in pleasure because it’s certain again of how much Bill wants him. 

He lays still against Bill’s chest, letting the embrace linger on. As Bill’s arms begin to loosen around him, he sits up and turns to look at him. 

Bill’s palm clutches his cheek as Holden’s gaze catches on his. Bill’s eyes are tired but full of need, an aching hunger opening up past the cramped expansion of sadness. 

He kisses Holden so hard that Holden feels a raw ache prickle across his lower lip. He opens his mouth to it, letting Bill’s tongue invade him again. Leaning into it, he clutches at Bill’s chest as the fierce kiss moves in long, aching strokes across his lips. 

When Bill pulls back, he’s breathing in short, raspy bursts. His mouth presses wet and hot against Holden’s cheek, stubble scraping towards the tender skin below his earlobe. 

“I want to fuck you.” 

Holden’s gut twists with need as the words spill directly into his ear, and he feels himself nodding before he can stop trembling in response and think of a proper, verbal affirmation. 

He scrambles to his feet, and kicks his crumpled trousers from his ankles. Bill’s hand catches his wrist as he heads for the bedroom, tugging Holden along behind him down the darkened hallway. 

The bed is positioned directly below the window facing out towards the road where the glare of the streetlamp casts an amber glow across the disheveled sheets. Holden glimpses the Vaseline on the nightstand as Bill pulls him around into another kiss, this one more demanding and hungry rather than just tired and desperate. There’s that spark in his touch again, the fierce longing in every deliberate gesture that never ceases to take Holden’s breath away. He lapses into the stroke of Bill’s mouth, his lips falling open to his tongue, his body melting into a humming puddle of electrified urges beneath Bill’s grasp. 

Bill’s palms claim his backside, hoisting him off the ground for the few strides it takes for them to reach the bed. As they tumble to the sheets, Bill pushes between Holden’s bare thighs. The strained fabric of his sweatpants holds his swollen cock at bay as their hips collide, but Holden can feel him throbbing underneath, rubbing up against Holden’s spent dick until it’s sore. 

Holden tears his mouth from Bill’s as a gasp builds in the back of his throat. Arousal itches beneath his skin again as his body reacts to every eager touch, his helpless, twitching cock trying to get hard again as the promise of Bill fucking into him looms closer. 

“Bill …” Holden murmurs, grasping Bill’s cheek to hold back the rain of kisses. 

The light spilling through the window overhead casts a warm, gold glow across the wild need erupting in Bill’s hooded gaze and the hungry snarl of his lips. He reaches over to swipe the Vaseline from the nightstand, and leans back to unscrew the lid. 

Holden lets his head fall back against the pillows as he lifts his legs to his chest. His body is quivering and wilted and tender with the remnants of orgasm, and the wet glide of Bill’s fingers against him ignites a bone-deep shudder that drags his mouth open in a silent cry of overstimulation. Clinging to the headboard, he bites down on his lower lip while Bill’s fingers push into him, slicking him with Vaseline and destroying whatever resistance is left clutched inside him. He submits, already limp and ready from Bill’s mouth, and it’s only another moment before Bill exchanges the Vaseline for the box of condoms. 

Holden’s eyelids drift open while he waits, catching a glimpse of Bill’s rock hard dick plastered in rubber and gleaming with Vaseline just before it’s pushing up against his hole. 

Grasping Holden’s hips, Bill holds him steady as he pushes inside. Holden whimpers as the pressure mounts, gradually delving deeper and deeper, going until he’s so full that the sensation is too good, almost too much to bear. 

“Oh, fuck …” Bill’s groan from overhead drags Holden’s clamped eyelids open. 

Bill’s head tilts back, exposing throbbing veins snaking down his throat and the gleam of perspiration traveling down his collarbones and across the front of his undershirt. The thin fabric strains beneath eager, panting breaths, and Holden reaches up to tug at it, wanting to rip it away so they can lay skin-on-skin while Bill ruts against him. 

Bill leans forward, seating his cock deeper into him as his mouth comes down to seal the mewling whimpers behind Holden’s lips. Holden groans into the kiss while he tears the undershirt across Bill’s shoulders, and over his head. Their mouths disconnect as he discards the last bit of fabric standing between them, and their gazes hold in the faint, yellow light. 

Bill’s brow furrows as he rocks against Holden, but he doesn’t close his eyes. Holden clings to his shoulders, trying not to shudder beneath the intensity of that gaze. It’s like staring into direct sunlight, but he can’t look away, feeling himself melting underneath of it, drizzling like ice cream across the pavement on a summer day. The sound of his own rasping whimpers fades into white noise as sensation takes over, his brain cataloging the hot pressure of Bill’s cock inside him, the slick glide of Vaseline, his body submitting and gaping to the steady thrust filling him over and over again. 

The moment snaps when Bill kisses him again, and Holden shudders. A feeling of desperation overcomes him, though not for another bout of orgasmic shivers. He throws his arms around Bill’s neck, clinging on like its his last lifeline; and he can feel Bill’s chest against his, every scraped gasp of his breath, their sweat amalgamating in the shared space, Bill’s weight all but crushing the breath from his lungs. He can’t get any closer than this, and yet he wants to; he wants to feel Bill crawling into every inch of his skin, every crevice of his body, every tiny, dark space he’d tried to conceal from everyone who’d come before. He wants it to feel real, not just because it feels good, but because someone else wants him, every part of him - maybe this is what that feels like. 

Bill’s steady thrusts meld into trembling, jagged motions, finally into spasmic shudders. Holden clings to his shoulders as Bill buries his face in his neck, and writes his pleasure into Holden’s throat with the sound of his groans. His hips pulse against Holden for long, aching seconds before he goes still, breathing hard into the crook of Holden’s neck. 

When he withdraws, Holden’s body aches, and he utters a groan. 

Bill crawls to the edge of the mattress, and discards the used condom into the trash can. He grabs the pack of cigarettes and the lighter from the nightstand, and pulls one free of the packaging with his teeth. 

Holden rolls onto his side to watch the cloud of smoke ignite and drift towards the ceiling. Bill’s heavy exhale reverberates through the silence. 

Holden tries to think of something to say, but the seconds are open and bleeding like a fresh wound, and maybe anything he could say would be like salt across the cut. 

Bill drops the lighter on the nightstand, and takes another small object from the crowded space. As he leans back against the pillows, Holden can see that it’s a small, black rock. The faint light from the streetlamp slants across the headboard as Bill lifts the stone to the light, examining the sharp edges and glittering insides. 

“Brian gave it to me.” He says, quietly. 

Holden shifts closer to him, resting his cheek against Bill’s shoulder. 

Bill takes another drag of his cigarette, and expels the smoke with a shaky sigh. “He didn’t say anything. He just gave it to me this morning after we came out of the courthouse. I think he was trying to tell me something.” 

“Like what?” 

“Christ, I don’t know. Maybe … hopefully that he doesn’t hate me.” 

“He probably doesn’t understand everything that’s happened.” Holden whispers, “What do you think Nancy has told him?” 

“Not much, I hope.” 

“When he gets older, he’ll have questions.” 

“Fuck. What am I supposed to tell him?” Bill says, curling his fingers around the stone, and letting his hand drop to his chest. “That his old man is a …” His voice trails off for a moment, and he presses his fingertips to his tear ducts. “I’m going to be paying for this for the rest of my fucking life.” 

Holden sits up, and scrapes his hands through his hair. The truth of their situation comes into a clear, brutal focus, the damage stretching out across the years ahead. He hadn’t thought about Brian much in the past few months because Bill didn’t bring it up, but mainly because he didn’t want to consider how undeniably responsible he is for his part in the divorce. It’s hard to ignore now that Brian’s rock is glinting in the light. 

“Holden.” Bill’s voice is softer, holding a plea. 

Holden glances over his shoulder at him, blinking against the rising sting of tears. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” Bill says, reaching out to brush his knuckles against Holden’s lower back. 

“I know.” Holden whispers, “I just … I don’t want you to look at the future … at me, and think it was for nothing. I don’t want you to think you won’t have love or acceptance for the rest of your life because you’ve lost your family. You _ do _ have love.” 

Bill swallows hard as the weight of those words hit, and Holden looks away, thinking he’s said too much again. 

The mattress shifts beneath him as Bill sits up. Holden feels his hand against his back, rubbing gently between his shoulder blades. Bill’s mouth presses against his shoulder, ingraining a kiss and a shuddering sigh into the skin. 

“Do you mean that?” Bill whispers.

Holden closes his eyes against the cold fist of fear wrapping around his chest. For a moment, he wonders if he does mean it, or if he’s just saying it to make Bill feel better because he has no idea if this relationship will last, if it’s meant to last, or if it’s just like a faint comet streaking across the sky for bare seconds before burning itself out; but then, Bill’s mouth is against the back of his neck, breathing in thread-bare inhales, and his palm his gripping Holden’s shoulder in some kind of tender desperation for him to say it again, to say it louder, to mean it, to not cower beneath the magnitude of it. 

“Yes.” He says, turning around to meet Bill’s gaze.

Bill’s mouth catches his in a kiss before he can say more, or try to fill the ensuing silence with empty words because he can’t stand to hear himself make a promise he doesn’t know he can keep. But as Bill guides him back down against the sheets, arms winding tightly around him, mouth eating up the taste of hope off his lips, he feels the cold and trepidation seeping from his chest. The future stretches out, frightening in it’s disillumination but gentle in the promise of something more. There’s a growing light building between them, chasing away the shadows, and he thinks that maybe it isn’t so scary if he has Bill by his side. 


	2. Chapter 2

Holden stays for the next three days into the weekend. He’s there when Bill leaves on Friday morning for the therapy meeting, and insists on staying that night as Bill’s exhaustion leaks into the BSU basement. The wound is still raw and festering as they lay in bed that night, Bill smoking into the small hours of the morning while Holden slumbers curled up against his side. 

Nancy had kept her distance at the meeting, purposefully choosing not to look directly at him or address him unless the conversation required it. Dr. Moritz had already been through his lecture months before about how this might impact Brian, and the discussion had remained centered on their son’s progress. It’s all he can be grateful for at this point. By some small miracle, the meeting had ended without a commotion or hysteria. At the end, they exchanged pleasantries and went their separate ways. Civil, structured, nearly rehearsed, as if they could almost get used to this distance between them after twenty years of marriage. 

_ Maybe they’ve finally exhausted themselves.  _ He thinks. The cold shoulder hurts less than the anger and accusations, the crying and the demands.  _ Maybe he can live with it.  _

Around one-thirty in the morning, Bill crushes his cigarette in the ashtray, and settles back against the pillow with exhaustion finally pulling his eyelids shut. The weight of Holden’s body against his side pins down his fleeting thoughts like a security blanket, wrapping him up in the warm, gentle embrace of dreams before the dread and nausea that have dogged him for months can have a chance at inciting insomnia. 

He sleeps deeply for what feels like days before the golden spill of morning sunshine slanting past the curtains filters beyond his fluttering eyelids. His mind crawls from the dense, clinging weight of sleep, gradually registering his place in the bed, draped on his side and facing the nightstand. Brian’s rock is sitting on the corner next to his cigarettes, next to the box of condoms, beside the Vaseline; but, he doesn’t have time to think about his son or Nancy again because another sensation has already stolen his focus. 

He tries to move as Holden’s fingers wander down his back, stirring waves of sensitive tingles as they graze along the dip of his spine and back up the rise of his hips. Holden leans against him, his mouth pressing against Bill’s bare shoulder. 

“Shh, don’t move.” Holden murmurs, the low tenor of his voice holding an illicit charm. 

A complaint grumbles from the back of Bill’s throat, but Holden doesn’t seem to pay him any mind. His fingers are busy tucking themselves under the elastic waistband of Bill’s boxers, slowly tugging the fabric away. 

The haze of sleep lifts fully with the taut snap of the boxers hitting the back of thighs. Bill leans back against Holden’s weight, muttering a sound of confusion, but Holden braces a hand against his shoulder. 

“I said, don’t move.” Holden says, firmer this time. 

“What are you doing?” 

The daze of dreams is entirely shattered, and he's fully awake as his body leaps ahead of the initial burst of realization. His gaze darts wildly over his shoulder as Holden’s palm grazes his backside, fostering the warmth plunging down Bill's chest and belly. His cock is still trapped in the front of his boxers, and he feels the first pang of need go through him, as if his body already instinctively knows what’s coming even though his mind is set against it. 

Holden’s fingers trace the rise of his hip before circling back down again to find the top of his cleft. The touch is light and feathery, unobtrusive yet deliberate in it’s destination. 

Bill’s heart jolts into a thudding race, and he can hear his own raspy breathing above the dull roar building in the back of his mind. Need slams him hard in the belly, reacting against the panic setting in. He should move. He should protest. He could shove Holden off of him if he really tried, if he really wanted to; but he lays paralyzed against the sheets as Holden’s soft, warm touch travels deeper, brushing up against his opening. 

A choked groan revolts against his clenched jaw, erupting in a pathetic whine. His body flushes with heat, first one of sudden, gripping arousal, and then another of ingrained humiliation. His cock begins to throb even as disbelief grips his chest, demanding he say something, do something before this moment unravels into something he can’t take back. 

Holden’s fingers retreat for a moment, and Bill grips a handful of the bedsheets, wondering if he’s gotten the message out of his trembling reticence to stop what he’s doing. His mouth drifts across Bill’s shoulder, and down into the crook of his neck, spilling a hot stream of breath across his earlobe. 

“You should really relax.” Holden whispers, “It won’t feel as good if you don’t relax.” 

Bill draws in a shaking breath. “Holden, I don’t know if-”

“I want you to trust me.” Holden murmurs, “Please, Bill. You trust me, don’t you?” 

“Yes, but-”

“How many times have you done this to me?” Holden continues, his voice vibrating gently against the skin just behind Bill’s ear. “Trust me when I say it feels good … so good, like you wouldn’t believe.” 

Bill presses his eyes shut. When Holden frames it that way, this panic searing his chest seems silly and misplaced, like he’s holding onto a disintegrating piece of a lie he doesn’t believe in anymore. But it’s the only thing he’s ever denied Holden - ever denied himself - and if that control slips out of his grasp he’s not quite sure where they’ll stand afterwards. 

Holden reaches over his shoulder to take the Vaseline from the nightstand. Bill watches it disappear out of his line of sight, his pulse kicking into overdrive. He thinks again of pushing Holden off and fleeing the room, but something keeps him trapped against the sheets, his body cycling through shudders of hot need and waves of alarm. 

The sound of the Vaseline lid scraping open echoes through the early morning silence, interrupting the conflicted rage of Bill’s thoughts with that tangible, grounding signpost of inevitability. 

Holden’s palm gently grasps his hip, guiding him into an arched, vulnerable position. 

His chest pounds as the seconds stretch on, his ears straining to pick up the quiet, slick sound of Holden’s fingers dipping into the Vaseline. His palm is sweaty around his grip on the bed sheets, but the panic has slowed into something closer to pulsating anticipation, a strange and wild need rebelling deep between his thighs. 

Holden bends closer to breathe calmly and steadily against his ear. Bill hears the click of his tongue as he licks his lips in concentration. 

He can’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder as the seconds stretch on, his naked skin tingling with anticipatory longing against cool air. He sees Holden’s slick fingers just before to press up against him, and his eyes clamp shut against the new sensation blazing like fire across his senses. A stammered gasp surges from his chest as Holden’s touch glides warm and wet up the cleft, smearing Vaseline across his hole, lathering everything in his path to avoid any bit of negative friction. He can feel his hips curling back against the caress even as his mind staggers along behind, trying to process this feeling, trying to differentiate it as good or bad. Every bit of him clinging to the latter gets obliterated in seconds, lost in the overwhelming surge of tingles that rush down his spine and into his belly at Holden’s touch. 

Holden mutters a pleased sound as his fingers slowly, deliberately stroke in gentle circles around the puckered opening. 

Bill gasps in a breath, keeping his eyes firmly shut against the stunning visual that matches the divine pressure of Holden’s fingers mounting against him, soothing the initial clamp of muscle, coaxing him to relax against the touch. 

_ Please. Please. Please.  _ The thought peppers his mind with a desperate cry, but his cheeks are flushing hot with a confusing rash of arousal and shame; and he can’t quite pin down exactly what he’s asking for, only knows that his body is reacting before his mind can, and Holden is taking every tremble and lurch of his hips as an answer to keep going. 

The steady, circular motion tapers off, and Holden’s fingertip presses against him, testing the rigidity before slowly delving in. 

“Jesus. Fuck.” Bill groans, dragging the corner of the sheet to his mouth to muffle the strangled cry. The sheet shields his knuckles as he bites down, the faint burst of pain barely making a dent in the need pounding relentlessly through his cock. 

Holden presses closer as he pumps his hand gently, working his finger in and out until it’s slick and easy, encountering little resistance. 

“That’s good.” Holden murmurs, the soft lilt of his voice scattering shivers down Bill’s spine. 

His back arches against the gentle, consistent pressure.  _ More. I need more.  _ The thought brands itself across his brain, glowing in unforgettable red letters like a Vegas stripmall blaring gaudy desires. The light flashes behind his eyes, need pulsating brighter, whiter with every steady thrust of Holden’s hand. 

Holden pauses just long enough to add more Vaseline, and Bill feels himself coming untethered in those bare seconds, losing sense of his inhibitions, losing sight of his misgivings beneath the rising hum of compounding need. 

The pressure starts back up again, and this time, Holden pairs his middle finger with the index, curling them down against the sweet, aching spot blossoming to hardened, swollen arousal. Bill cries out as the pleasure of it seizes him in the belly, violently shaking loose any lingering reservation. White sears across the backs of his eyelids, and he’s seeing stars for a moment, his body losing sense of gravity. 

All he can focus on is the throbbing tempo of his erection fighting against the cotton trap of his boxers, and the unrelenting, sweet pressure of Holden’s fingers bearing down against his prostate. His hands are shaking as he pushes the sheets away to grasp at the front of his boxers, freeing his erection with a desperate yank. His cock slides free of the fabric and into his palm, flesh jolting with pleasure at the smallest caress. 

“Fuck … yes.” He groans, pressing his forehead to the mattress as need soars through his chest. He arches his hips back against Holden’s grinding caress, rubbing down harder and faster against him as his trembling body threatens to buckle under the mounting arousal. 

“Yes, yes …” He can hear himself muttering the raspy, needy chant, but he loses track of the seconds as they meld from aching arousal into brilliant pleasure. The orgasm erupts white-hot and fierce through his belly and chest, seizing him in a long series of spasms that seem to stretch on and on, aided by the persistent stroke of Holden’s fingers inside him. 

His wet fingers lapse against his wilting cock as he comes down from it, every inch of him melted and shuddering with the aftershocks. His eyelids slowly drift open to glimpse his dresser across the room, the boxes of case files stacked in the corner, the nightstand with Brian’s rock and his cigarettes. Nothing has changed, but he half-expects that it would have, somewhere between the total breakdown of his pride and the most satisfying orgasm he’s ever experienced. 

Holden’s fingers retreat from inside him to rest gently against his hip. He leans closer to press a warm kiss to Bill’s cheek. 

“How was it?” He asks, his voice holding giddy anticipation. 

Bill closes his eyes, swallowing back the urge to say something defensive. The truth bubbles up in his chest, and he lets himself say it. “Good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes.” 

“See.” Holden says, squeezing his hip. “Nothing to be scared of.” 

“I’m not fucking scared.” 

“I know.” Holden murmurs, soothing. “Big, strong Agent Tench isn’t scared of anything.”

“Don’t push your luck.” 

Holden chuckles softly against his cheek, and slides his hand up Bill’s stomach and chest to hold him closer. “Okay, I’ll stop.” 

Bill jostles him off as he pushes his elbow underneath himself to reach for the kleenex box on the nightstand. He rolls onto his back as he uses a handful of tissues to wipe off his hand and thighs. 

Holden is watching him with a small, pleased smile, his eyes gleaming with an almost smug satisfaction that Bill might have had the urge to be annoyed by if he wasn't still reeling in the afterglow of climax.

As Bill discards the tissues, Holden wiggles closer. Pressing his mouth to Bill's shoulder, he breathes a thready sigh into the skin, and reaches down to grasp at his erection straining against his briefs. 

Bill watches on for a moment, enjoying Holden's hips squirming against the unsatisfactory friction of his own hand. Holden’s wet mouth slips open against Bill’s shoulder, muttering a soft moan.

"Fuck, Bill." He whispers, his breath going hot and heavy against Bill's skin. "That got me so hard." 

Bill swallows against a fresh wave of embarrassment that still lingers beyond the hum of sated needs. He can easily imagine what Holden had seen, the way he'd felt curating that sensation and pleasure. He knows that feeling well. He knows what comes next.

Holden drags his briefs down, exposing the hard length of his cock pulsing against his belly. Bill's hand breaks from his lap to assist Holden in getting the briefs off faster, and his hand settles on the throbbing shaft as Holden kicks the underwear from his ankles. 

Holden's panting lips push a sloppy, needy kiss to Bill's mouth while his arm winds around Bill's neck, dragging him closer. A groan jolts from the back of his throat as Bill strokes harder, bringing him to full, aching hardness. 

Bill can feel every pulse going through him, the quiver dwelling in his jaggedly thrusting hips that threatens to tip him over into orgasm. He drags his thumb up over the head, feeling the scarce moisture of severe arousal. Holden’s hips lurch into the stroke, and a moan leaps from his tongue into Bill’s hungrily stroking mouth. 

Holden tears his mouth away, trailing saliva and raspy breaths across Bill's cheek until he reaches his ear. "I want your mouth on me." 

He draws back just far enough to meet Bill's gaze, his eyelids heavy over the hazy blue of his eyes. His nudges his nose against Bill's as a response sticks in the back of Bill's throat. His teeth push against his lower lip to repress a whimper. "Please … Bill." 

Bill kisses him just to stop those titillating mewls of need. His body is still humming with pleasure, the phantom pressure of Holden’s fingers inside him imprinting itself across his brain, a sense memory he can’t overwrite with anything more powerful than what’s already been done; and he can’t think straight, can’t think of anything except Holden’s cock shoving down his throat, can’t lift a finger as he watches the last threads of his control slip beyond recovery. 

Holden’s hips rock against him, nudging the hot, blunt head of his cock into Bill’s thigh with a fracturing urgency. 

Bill tears his mouth away from Holden’s, and staggers a long, wet kiss down Holden’s chest as he sinks lower against the sheets. Holden whines when the hard, hot press of his mouth grazes against his belly. He clutches at Bill’s nape, his nails digging in, forcing his head down faster. Bill clutches Holden’s cock by the root, directing it to his mouth and halting the desperate cadence of his thrusts. Holden quivers, a strangled moan forcing its way up at his chest as Bill allows his breath to spill over the engorged tip. 

“God, Bill …” He whispers, hips writhing against the firm grip of Bill’s fist. 

Bill casts a quick glance up at him, assuring himself with the grimace of panicked need on Holden’s face just before he opens his mouth. Holden’s lips fall open as his mouth makes slick contact, taking in the warm, pulsing head that tastes of flesh and a hint of salt. The shaft pulses wildly against Bill’s palm, need building faster and harder with the wet glide of his tongue. 

“Oh, fuck.  _ Fuck. _ ” Holden moans, the curse stammering from his chest as he curls into Bill, his entire body shuddering with a thrill of arousal. 

Bill steadies the pace of his sucking, going down slowly, pausing at the top to curl his tongue over the head. Holden breathes in shallow gasps above him, and grasps at his nape with impatient tugs. His cock writhes in Bill’s mouth, verging on pleasure but only aching at the idea of it with Bill stretching out the caress into gradual, sweet torture. 

Holden wiggles closer, and curls his leg over Bill’s shoulder. His heel pushes against the middle of Bill’s back, forcing him closer, so close that his cock hits the back of Bill’s throat with a jolt. Bill palms his bare hip to mitigate the duress of his swollen cock bearing down, but Holden leverages his weight down against Bill’s shoulder. His hips rock forward, carving out a desperate tempo past the suction of Bill’s lips. 

“Oh, fuck yes. That’s it.” Holden pants, his voice taking on a high-pitched, breathless quality that makes Bill’s insides melt with satisfaction. 

As Holden gets lost in the arousal, Bill grips the underside of his thigh, and unseats Holden’s leg from his shoulder. He shoves off the sheets, and pushes Holden onto his back, pinning his knee up against his chest. Holden moans as Bill’s mouth leaves his cock, letting it slide wet and pulsing across his quivering belly. 

Their gazes clash for a moment as Bill crawls over him, one hand pinning his leg while the other grazes Holden’s twitching cock. 

Holden’s hips writhe beneath Bill’s grasp, and his brow furrows in desperate need. His mouth his pink and bitten with the hungry gnash of his teeth as he pouts up at Bill, muttering an impatient sound of arousal. 

Bill ducks down to take Holden’s cock in his mouth again, bracing the pulsing root of it with a forceful grasp. Holden cries out in pleasure Bill’s mouth slides down the shaft, sealing him against the wet, squirming glide of his tongue. 

“Oh God, yes!” Holden moans, grasping at Bill’s nape with trembling fingers. 

His hips rock against Bill’s grip on his thigh, trying desperately to hasten the speed of Bill’s mouth rolling down his cock. His other foot kicks helplessly against the sheets before digging in against the mattress. His body stiffens, arching up from the sheets and into the slick embrace of Bill’s mouth as arousal begins to peak into orgasmic bliss. 

His moans taper off into breathless gasps, and Bill can feel his body quaking under the stiff grip of impending release. His mouth strokes down in the bare seconds of terse silence just before Holden’s hips break free and the slick burst of release hits his tongue. 

Bill draws back, but Holden’s grip clamps down on the back of his neck. His lips slide free of Holden’s dripping cock for mere seconds and cum splatters his cheek just before Holden reins him back in, shoving his mouth down to take the slick gush of his pleasure. Bill’s eyes squeeze shut, blocking out the image of Holden gasping and writhing above him but unable to disrupt the hot, salty taste and slick texture of Holden’s release pouring across his tongue. 

Holden’s cock rocks desperately into his mouth through long throes of orgasm before the intensity of it begins to fade, and he sinks down against the sheets. His hand retreats from Bill’s nape. 

Slowly opening his eyes, Bill draws back to see Holden lapsing back against the pillow, one hand pressed to his forehead as exhilarated gasps lift his chest and burst from his mouth. He can feel Holden’s cum rolling across his tongue, some of his slipping down his throat, some of it dripping past his lips. He stumbles off the bed to grab a handful of tissues, and spits into them before Holden can enjoy the look of his cum drizzling down his chin. 

The taste densely coats his tongue even as he wipes his mouth, and discards the tissues. He swipes his cigarettes from the nightstand. He realizes his fingers are trembling as he flips the lighter open and brings the wavering flame to the tip of the cigarette. 

Holden rolls onto his side, his lithe body curling melted and tremulous across his disheveled sheets. His gaze wanders up to meet Bill’s, and a faint smile curls the corner of his mouth. His teeth drag across his lower lip, leaving the flesh gleaming and puffy. 

Bill inhales sharply on his cigarette. 

“Come here.” Holden murmurs, stretching out a hand across the sheets. 

Bill goes to him, his hesitation getting lost in the hazy pull of Holden’s blue eyes and the beguiling need in his voice. 

Holden snuggles close as Bill reclines against the pillows, propping his cigarette against the corner of his mouth. His head settles against Bill’s chest, and his arm wraps around Bill’s waist, ensuring he won’t be leaving the bed again until Holden deems necessary. 

Bill’s breathing slows as he smokes, and wraps his arm around Holden, his fingers winding absently through Holden’s disheveled hair. In the silence of the bedroom, he can hear distant hum of traffic and the wail of sirens cutting through the early morning air, but this place feels sequestered and removed from the world. These four walls which have contained all the pain and frustration of the last eight months are hollowed out into nothing more than plaster and paint, a canvass easily redrawn into something softer and kinder. It feels different this morning, not just because the divorce is behind him; Holden’s touch wanders across his mind, obliterating the last vestiges of his apprehension. It’s as if he’s been altered down into his bones, a door opened inside him that he hadn’t known existed before Holden’s fingers jostled the lock; but it isn’t just the disorienting memory of Holden’s fingers inside him that makes this moment gleam in the sunlight like a freshly minted penny. Even this embrace feels revolutionary, a picture of possibility because he wouldn’t have allowed it a year ago. Everything’s changed, but the fear of the last eight months is beginning to slough away to reveal something magnificently hopeful, something bright and beautiful, something new. 

~

Holden relinquishes his embrace after more than half an hour when the hungry grumble of his stomach interrupts the peaceful quiet. 

“I’ll make some coffee.” He says as the warm weight of his body leaves Bill’s side. “What do you want for breakfast?” 

“Whatever you want.” Bill says. 

“Okay.” 

Holden finds his flannel pajama pants crumpled on the floor, and puts on the nearest shirt he can find, Bill’s from the size of it, and scampers out of the bedroom. 

Bill swings his legs over the edge of the bed, and sits there for a long minute. His gaze glances off of Brian’s rock, it’s white and black pattern glistening in the wash of sunlight. A pained breath lifts his chest, and he wishes he could have this moment without the reality of their situation interrupting it. 

Putting on a pair of sweatpants, he swipes the rock and his cigarettes from the nightstand and leaves the bedroom. He passes the kitchen on his way to the back door that leads out onto the fire escape balcony. Holden is humming quietly as he prepares the coffee and rummages in the refrigerator for whatever scarce ingredients Bill has on hand for breakfast. 

Bill steps out onto the balcony, ignoring the slight chill in the early March breeze. The sun is high and warm, battling the lingering taste of winter in the air, bathing the sprawl of streets and buildings below in a golden glow. 

The previous tenant had left behind a plastic patio chair and rickety card table that Bill had since taken advantage of whenever he couldn’t stand the four, bare walls of his new home any longer. Five stories up, the fire escape offers a detached view of the city below, a feeling of distance that he relishes while he smokes and thinks and worries that life is never going to feel normal again. 

He turns the rock around between his fingers while he lights a cigarette, and squints against the sunlight washing the world with the hopeful idea of spring. The sky is cloudless blue, and that seems like a sign, maybe a good omen that the worst is behind him. But the edges of Brian’s rock nudge against his palm, and he thinks that life never gets easier, just evolves and presents with a new set of challenges that seem impossible right up until you hurdle past them. Brian has a million hurdles ahead, a good number of them that he should be there to help his son over. 

The back door slides open, and Holden steps out onto the balcony. He’s holding a coffee mug in each hand, and has a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. 

“What are you doing out here? It’s cold.” He says. 

“It’s not too bad.” Bill says. 

“It is a nice view.” 

Holden leaves their coffee on the card table, and wanders up to the railing. Pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders, he draws in a deep, shivering breath. 

“It’s finally getting warm again.” He murmurs, turning his face to the sunlight. 

Bill takes a slow drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke pour languidly from his lips. He watches Holden’s figure take up the center of the cityscape, interjecting itself into the view Bill has stared at a hundred times with dread boiling in his belly and a need to escape itching beneath his skin; that impatience dwindles into nothing now. Even with Brian’s rock in his palm, he wants to stay right here, pause this moment with Holden basking in the sunlight and his skin prickling in the cool breeze, every inch of him freshly alive with post-sex alertness and warmth. 

Holden turns from the railing, and saunters to where Bill is slouched in the chair. His hair ruffles in the breeze, uncombed curls dancing against his forehead. His cheeks are pink with the breeze, his eyes wide and bright, too alert for this early in the morning; but he’s always this awake and this eager, and Bill wishes he could siphon a bit of that unrelenting passion. 

“What?” Holden murmurs, his mouth curling coyly as Bill stares up at him. 

“Nothing. You’re just …” 

Holden opens the front of the blanket, and sits down on Bill’s lap.

“Just what?” He presses, wrapping his arms and the blanket around Bill’s shoulders. 

“I don’t know.” Bill says, dropping his cigarette in the ash tray to slip his arm underneath the blanketed warmth of Holden’s embrace. He drags his thumb across Holden’s cheek, and plants a kiss against the plush corner of his mouth. “Nothing.” 

“Hmm.” Holden mutters. “Someone once called me ‘devastating’.” 

“Devastating?” 

“Mm. I’m not sure what she meant.” 

“Well, she was right. You  _ did  _ ruin my life.” Bill says, letting his fingers slide from Holden’s cheek to nudge him in the ribs. 

“Did I?” 

“Mhm, you better own up to it.” Bill says, muffling the response in Holden’s throat. 

Holden’s chuckle vibrates against Bill’s mouth as he leans closer, his arms winding tight around Bill’s neck. 

Bill kisses his neck, inhaling the scent of his skin and relishing the quiver of his pulse growing beneath Bill’s mouth. As he makes his way up his throat, Holden tilts his head down to insert his own mouth into the kiss. Bill lets the stroke of his lips linger on, tasting Holden, the sweet tang of his lips and the warm shudder of his breath. 

He draws back just as it becomes too much, just as he feels like he can’t breathe because Holden breath and mouth and skin and touch have slipped down into his chest and fiercely gripped his heart. 

“Okay.” Holden murmurs as their mouths slide apart. “I’ll admit it … if you admit that you ruined mine, too.” 

Bill nods because he doesn’t trust his voice to speak or manage anything other than a helpless whimper. Holden kisses him again, saving him the struggle of trying to string together a proper, logical response. The stroke of his mouth takes over Bill’s, his tongue winding down to taste the inside of his lips. Bill clutches at his ribs, his fingers curling around the fabric of the shirt to drag Holden closer. 

Holden’s mouth breaks away all too soon, and the rush of his breath cools the salvia smeared across Bill’s lips. 

“Do you have somewhere to be today?” Holden asks. 

“No, Nancy has Brian this weekend.” 

“What about tomorrow?” 

“No. You?” 

“No, nothing.” Holden says, “I can stay all weekend.” 

“Good.” Bill says, “What about next week?” 

“Nothing planned.” Sunlight slants across the balcony, and Holden’s eyes gleam bright and radiant in the light. Bill focuses on his mouth as he whispers, “I want to stay here with you.” 

Bill kisses him hard before the emotion can leap up his throat and into his eyes. Brian’s rock cuts into his palm as he closes his fist around it, and winds his arm tightly around Holden’s waist. The sting of pain does little to quell the quivering joy opening up in his chest like a blossom turning its tender face toward the new light of spring. The breeze shifts across the balcony, bringing with it the first touch of warmth that the sun-dazzled morning has to offer, and it feels like the first of many, the golden beams chasing away the dull, gray backdrop the fire escape had once offered him. The summer of ‘82 looms ahead, and the world is just beginning to feel right again. 

~ the end ~

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to thank everyone who read along with this series and commented or encouraged me in anyway. Especially to Lucy for always being my cheerleader every time I post a new chapter <3 While I'm sad this series is coming to and end, I'm very happy with what I've completed, and I'm glad everyone has enjoyed it as much as I did :)
> 
> I'm [prinxcesskayy](https://prinxcesskayy.tumblr.com//) on Tumblr!


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